


Our Little Vignette

by theaa



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Light Angst, original tumblr prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-03
Updated: 2019-05-03
Packaged: 2020-02-16 12:38:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18691669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theaa/pseuds/theaa
Summary: 'He finds her in the tower. Wind whips through the jagged window, stirring the ends of her hair. Her hands are clasped in front of her, in a gesture Jon has long come to recognise as an attempt at self-soothing. She’s gazing out into the flurries of snow outside, a slight crease between her brows. Jon pauses at the top of the steps to watch as the snowflakes catch on her furs, the grey wool of her dress, melting into her hair.'Unbeknownst to them, they are being watched.





	Our Little Vignette

**Author's Note:**

> Sansa and Jaime already know r+l=j. Post 8x03.

He finds her in the tower. Wind whips through the jagged window, stirring the ends of her hair. Her hands are clasped in front of her, in a gesture Jon has long come to recognise as an attempt at self-soothing. She’s gazing out into the flurries of snow outside, a slight crease between her brows. Jon pauses at the top of the steps to watch as the snowflakes catch on her furs, the grey wool of her dress, melting into her hair. 

Eventually, Sansa turns her head to look at him. ‘What is it?’ 

She must have heard him coming up the staircase. He clears his throat. ‘Nothing. I just wondered where you’d got to. What made you come up here?’

Sansa’s lips twist into a wry smile. ‘Peace and quiet. It seems there is none to be found, however.’

Jon huffs out a laugh and moves to stand next to her. The ground outside Winterfell is churned up and frozen, still recovering from the battle. Jon gazes out at it too. He’d spent the morning restless, trying to avoid Dany’s questioning, but it is peaceful to stand at her side. Sansa sighs, and for a second Jon is disappointed that the moment has been broken. 

‘So? When do you and the Dragon Queen plan to leave?’

‘Not for a few days yet. She is still gathering what remains of her army.’

‘And then I must say goodbye to you again,’ she adds flatly, swiveling to stare at the snow once more. She clasps her hands again and Jon sees the leather of her gloves flex with her fingers. 

‘Sansa…’

‘Don’t Jon. Don’t make promises you can’t keep. Or worse, promises that you never intend to keep.’

Jon winces. ‘Sansa,’ he tries again. He reaches out to where her fingers tangle and tugs gently to unlock them, taking her hand in his. ‘Sansa, I have to. I have to go and stop her from doing something drastic.’

‘You fight in her war.’

‘No,’ he says firmly. ‘Not any longer. I’ll fight in wars no more, except for the North. Except for you.’

He runs his thumb over her hand, but it’s not the same with the leather in his way, so he reaches up to brush at warm skin he can touch and cups his palm to her cheek. ‘I promise you that.’

She tilts her head into him, her eyes closing. His fingers brush against the soft, hot place at the back of her ear. He can feel her pulse jumping there, quick and vital. 

‘I’m worried for you,’ she says, her voice barely a whisper. Jon’s chest squeezes painfully and he steps closer, lifting his other hand to cradle her face. Her eyes open and Jon is dismayed to see moisture clinging to her lashes. He brushes it away with his thumbs. Sansa’s lips part, her sigh a small rattle in the air between them. 

‘I can look after myself,’ he tries to reassure her. 

He sweeps the pads of his thumbs over her cheeks, watching the colour in them rise. 

‘Jon,’ Sansa whispers, on an out-breath. She reaches towards him and finds the leather strap of his sword belt at his hip. Her fingers curl into it, and it only takes a small tug and the little space that was between them slides away. Jon blinks at her. He can feel her breath on his lips. 

One of them moves first; he’s not sure which. Perhaps they are together in this too. He kisses her softly, gently, Sansa’s soft sigh floating around them. He settles a hand on her waist. Sansa’s teeth catch on his bottom lip, maybe accidentally, but it opens something in him, something a touch desperate, something he’s been holding back for too long, and the hand on her waist slides under her leather belt and yanks her closer, flush to his chest. The angle of their kiss changes and his tongue catches up with hers, open-mouthed now. Sansa is making little gasping noises and Jon moves his lips to her neck so he can hear them better. They stumble backward until her back meets the stones and Jon can press his body against hers, or as much as their layers of wool and leather will allow. He finds the spot behind her ear again and sucks a mark into the delicate skin, smoothing it over with his tongue after. 

‘Jon,’ Sansa gasps. Her hand is anchored in the loose curling hair by his nape and she pulls at it sharply. His hips buck forward in automatic response, a jarring movement involuntary enough to make Jon stumble back and away. His own breathing is heavy as he stares at the bitten red of Sansa’s mouth. She stares back at him before bringing a shaking hand to her lips. 

‘Sansa, I–’

‘Don’t you dare apologise,’ she says sharply. ‘Don’t you dare ruin that.’

He begins to shake his head but stops in surprise when he sees Sansa actually stomp her foot a little. She begins to yank her gloves off and then steps forward to catch his own hands hanging uselessly by his side. She squeezes them gently.

‘I love you,’ she says, her voice gentler now. ‘you must know I do.’ Her eyes seek out his and hold him there, pinning him there with their clear crystal blue. His breath catches. 

‘I’d…. I’d hoped for it.’ he admits. Sansa’s hands are cold in the biting wind that still swirls around them up in the tower. He brings her knuckles to his lips, like he would with a proper Lady, and presses a kiss there. ‘I love you too.’

xxx

In the shadows of the stairwell, Jaime watches them step towards each other again and decides he’s seen enough. He turns away as quietly as possible and leaves them to their kisses. Strange it should be there, he thinks, up where he and Cersei set things into motion so many years ago. Daenerys Targaryen means nothing to him – he will not tell her of the Starks newfound tenderness. Besides, the Dragon Queen would have to be an idiot if she did not already know the lengths Jon would go to protect his beautiful ‘sister.’ 

Still, the irony does not escape him. A Stark girl and a Targaryen prince. Might they be the ones to finally stitch the sorry seven kingdoms together again? He walks back to the room where Tyrion sits, a wine goblet in hand.

‘Well? Did you find my little wife?’

Tyrion is in his cups again, a recent habit whilst he battles his morals against his loyalty to Daenerys, Jaime recognises.

‘She’s not your wife anymore, brother,’ he says, reaching for a goblet of his own. Tyrion waves a hand.

‘Lady Stark then. DId you find her?’

Jaime pauses with the goblet to his lips and makes a decision. ‘No, I did not.’

Tyrion’s face falls. ‘This castle is too big and too damn drafty,’ he mutters, turning his chair to the fire burning in the stone hearth, pointedly ignoring his brother for failing in his mission.

Jaime wonders if Sansa’s third husband may be more to her liking. He thinks the answer is likely yes.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm theawants on tumblr, come scream about the show with me there.


End file.
